


Le Déluge

by pringlesaremydivision



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Camping, Desperation Play, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Praise Kink, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 08:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6462502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Gonna wet my pants if you don’t let me up, brother,” Rhett says. It’s an off-the-cuff remark, a joke. He just wants to make Link move. He doesn’t mean anything by it.</i>
</p><p>  <i>Beside him, Link stiffens.</i></p><p>This is exactly what you think it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le Déluge

**Author's Note:**

> They really do talk about pee an awful lot on the show. I'm not saying it means anything, I'm just saying it gives me ideas.

The third bottle of water, Rhett reflects, might have been a mistake. He probably should’ve stopped after the second one, but they’d gotten so sweaty putting up the tent, late afternoon sun beating down on them as they worked, and by the time they were finished he was parched, and the ice-cold water from the cooler felt so good going down his throat that he couldn’t find it in him to stop.

He should’ve stopped.

The pressure in his bladder is what’s woken him, the need to piss as overwhelming now as his thirst was earlier, but he can’t move. Blinking, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the tent, he realizes why—at some point during the night, Link has rolled himself over and latched onto Rhett, one gangly leg tossed over Rhett’s thigh and nestled up against his boxer-clad crotch. That, plus the arm he’s got slung over Rhett’s chest, has got Rhett effectively trapped, pinned down because Link is a lot heavier when he’s asleep, nothing but dead weight.

He’d rather get up without moving Link, but that’s clearly not going to be possible, so he nudges Link gently, hoping maybe he can get the other man to move without actually waking up. When that results in nothing but a loud snore against Rhett’s ear, he sighs and nudges harder. So much for that plan.

“Link,” he tries, quietly. “Link, hey.”

“Mmph,” Link responds, eyes still closed. He tightens the arm he’s got around Rhett’s chest and rubs his nose against Rhett’s bare shoulder. “Shh.”

“You gotta let me up, baby,” Rhett whispers. “Gotta pee.”

“No,” Link mumbles, breath warm against Rhett’s arm. “Keepin’ me warm. Stay here.” He yawns, snuggles up even tighter to Rhett, hitching his knee up and nudging Rhett’s half-hard cock. Rhett gasps, the light touch a jolt that travels up into his bladder, making it pulse.

“Gonna wet my pants if you don’t let me up, brother,” Rhett says. It’s an off-the-cuff remark, a joke. He just wants to make Link move. He doesn’t mean anything by it.

Beside him, Link stiffens. When Rhett turns his head to look at Link he finds Link staring right back at him, eyes vivid and alert. Any lingering drowsiness is gone.

 _Oh_.

They’ve—they haven’t talked about this officially, not really, but they manage to bring up pee on the show a little bit more often than is really necessary, and Rhett can’t honestly say he’s never thought of it. The idea of giving up control like that, of humiliating himself in front of Link, _for_ Link—it has an appeal to it, one that speaks to something deep inside Rhett, something that doesn’t get indulged very often in their everyday life. The fact that it’s something so taboo just makes it more intriguing, more exciting.

He can feel Link growing hard against his thigh, and decides to take this as far as he can.

“I really have to go, Link.” He squirms a little, only partly for show, watching closely for Link’s reaction. “I—I shouldn’t’ve had that last bottle of water with dinner.” Link keeps his face impressively calm, but the flare of his nostrils and the way his eyebrows draw together give plenty away.

Link nods, sympathetically, but doesn’t move to let Rhett up. “Does it hurt?” he asks, sweeping a hand up and down Rhett’s torso before settling his palm flat against the bulge of his abdomen. Rhett hisses involuntarily, even the light pressure of Link’s hand enough to make sweat break out at his temples.

“A little,” Rhett gasps out, biting his bottom lip. “Mostly it’s just—I’m so full.” To some degree it’s an act, because he knows how hot it gets Link when he’s helpless and desperate, but the longer Link keeps him pinned here, the less of an act it becomes. Then Link takes it a step further, pressing down gently until Rhett’s whimpering, the urge to let go almost unbearable.

“ _Shit_ ,” Rhett groans, hands scrabbling at the lining of the sleeping bag, fingers clenching into fists like that’s going to keep him from pissing himself. Shame and desperation have him hot all over, but his dick thickens up at the way Link looks at him, all dark eyes and ragged breathing. It’s Pavlovian at this point—turning Link on turns him on, and Link’s fully hard now, thrusting against Rhett’s thigh, jolting Rhett’s bladder with every movement of his hips.

“Please, Link, please let me up, I gotta go so bad, I don’t wanna—don’t make me mess up the sleeping bag,” Rhett pleads. He’s not playing around any longer. He’s pretty sure he could make it outside if Link lets him up _right now_ , but from the gleam in Link’s eye, that’s not going to happen.

“You gonna wet yourself, Rhett? Right here, gonna wet yourself for me, hm?” Link smooths a hand down over the waistband of Rhett’s underwear, curling his fingers around Rhett’s aching dick and squeezing lightly. Rhett whimpers, thrusting his hips up, chasing the friction, needing more, but Link just laughs and slides his hand back up to Rhett’s abdomen. He doesn’t even press down this time, just rests his hand there, but Rhett’s pretty much at the point of no return now, and it’s rapidly becoming too much.

“I can’t—I can’t hold it,” Rhett says, breath coming out in harsh gasps. He squeezes his legs together, crossing them tight, but he can feel the pressure building up, knows he doesn’t have long before he actually is going to piss himself whether or not he wants to.

“Go ahead,” Link whispers, voice scratchy and rough, “go ahead, let go. Make a nice big mess for me.”

Rhett groans, eyes shut tight. “I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” Link answers. He presses his hand down harder on Rhett’s bladder even as he presses soft little kisses along Rhett’s neck. Rhett chokes back a sob, pain and arousal and need all swirled into a miasma of desperation that’s got him completely helpless.

“I—Link, I can’t—” He’s writhing now, shamelessly. He wants to let go, wants to make Link happy, _needs_ to piss, but he can’t make himself do it. Everything aches - his bladder, his dick, his balls, even the muscles in his thighs are starting to hurt from the strain of holding it in.

Link moves suddenly, sliding his whole body over onto Rhett’s, grinding down hard against his cock. “Let go for me, Rhett,” he whispers harshly, breath washing hot against the shell of Rhett’s ear, and the unyielding pressure of his body is impossible to resist.

The first spurt soaks through the thin cotton of Rhett’s boxers and he automatically clamps down, years of resisting this exact urge almost too much to overcome, but the sound that tears from Link’s throat is enough for Rhett to force his muscles to relax again. The feeling is overwhelming, the sensation of his bladder emptying as good as any orgasm, and he can’t help the whines that fall from his mouth as his boxers reach full saturation and the liquid starts to soak into the sleeping bag around them.

“ _Rhett_ ,” Link groans, hips thrusting frantically, his cock hard and heavy against Rhett’s, and Rhett’s shivering at the onslaught of sensation, overstimulated and needy all at once. “So filthy, baby, gosh, look at you, feel so good,” and all Rhett can do is lay there and clutch at Link’s back, little whines falling from his lips as the stream of urine trails off into a dribble and then, slowly, into nothingness. He feels wrung-out, exhausted, disgusting.

His cock throbs in his soaked boxers, and he shivers.

Rhett opens his eyes, shaking at the comedown, and the look on Link’s face has his already-unsteady breath catching in his throat. Link’s eyes are blazing, lips glossy and red around a smile so feral it’s nearly a leer. His hair is a mess, dark strands in disarray, falling into his eyes and sticking to the sweaty skin at his temples. He looks predatory, powerful. Rhett shudders. Link looks gorgeous.

“Get on your knees,” Link whispers, unzipping the sleeping bag and leaning back on his heels to give Rhett room to move. In the dim moonlight Rhett can just make out the dark patch on Link’s briefs where his piss has soaked through, and he can feel his face heating up. Link grins when he notices where Rhett’s looking and cups a hand around his cock, stroking it lightly. Rhett groans.

“Come on, baby, on your knees. Gonna get you even messier.”

The small part of Rhett’s brain that’s still rational is impressed by the fact that the sleeping bag isn’t wet at all on the outside, although it does make a muffled squishing sound when he kneels on it. As soon as he’s in position, on hands and knees, Link’s leaning over him, covering the expanse of Rhett’s back with his slim body, pressing his hard cock into the wet crack of Rhett’s ass. Rhett moans low, dropping his head and arching back, feeling dirty, wanton, wanting more.

Link hooks his chin over Rhett’s shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against the side of Rhett’s face, just above where his beard ends. He slides one hand down Rhett’s side, tugging his ruined underwear down around his knees, then trailing his fingers back up Rhett’s damp thighs, the light touch electric on Rhett’s oversensitive skin. There’s a shift of fabric behind him, Link’s weight momentarily absent, but Rhett doesn’t even have a chance to start shivering at the loss before he’s back, slipping his cock between Rhett’s thighs.

“Fuck, Rhett, love seein’ you lose control like that, you have no idea.” Link fucks Rhett’s thighs as he speaks, each thrust rubbing his dick against Rhett’s tight, aching balls, making his knees shake. Between the sweat, piss, and Link leaking precome like a faucet, the slide of his dick is nearly as slippery as it would be if they had lube. Rhett clenches his thighs together tighter, tips his pelvis back, savoring Link’s moan, the way he clutches Rhett’s hips. “Can’t believe you did that for me, don’t know how I got so lucky, _oh_ , you feel so good, baby.”

“Wanna be—good for you,” Rhett manages to get out, more than a little dizzy. At this new angle, Link’s cock hits the base of Rhett’s shaft with every thrust, the touch an excruciating tease. “Wanna—please, Link—”

“Shh, baby, you’re so good, you did so good,” Link murmurs. “My good boy, my Rhett. Gonna give you what you want.” He slides a hand around Rhett’s waist, grasping his cock and tugging in time with his thrusts. Rhett whines, his elbows nearly giving out, and he lowers himself down until he’s resting his face on his folded forearms. The position, his ass pushed up in the air as Link jerks him off and fucks his thighs, has him feeling even dirtier and more helpless, like he’s just something for Link to use. It’s intoxicating, so hot it makes his head spin, and his orgasm overtakes him with so much force it leaves him breathless as he paints the sleeping bag white with ropes of come.

“Oh, yeah, that’s it, Rhett, so good—tighten up for me, sweetheart,” Link says, hips moving erratically now, chasing his own orgasm now that he’s made Rhett come. Rhett barely has control of his body anymore, loose and rubbery, but he squeezes his thighs together as best he can, and it must be enough, because it’s only a few more thrusts before Link’s groaning and Rhett can feel the hot splash of Link’s release on his stomach.

There’s a moment when Link rests his head on Rhett’s back and Rhett’s knees threaten to give out completely, but Link sits back and pulls Rhett up with him, easing him back against his chest, before Rhett can fall into the mess they’ve made. Rhett can feel Link’s fingers in his hair, petting him gently, murmuring sounds that might be words or might just be comforting nonsense. His voice sounds muffled and far away.

Rhett could fall asleep just like this, curled up in Link’s strong arms, safe and sated. He wants to thank Link, for letting him be vulnerable, for forcing him to let go—indulgences he’s almost never granted in his day-to-day life, where being the father, the husband, the provider, the employer, means that he has to be strong, focused, in control. He wants to tell Link how grateful he is that Link is there to pick up the pieces afterwards, to put him back together when he falls apart, but when he opens his mouth to speak, Link just shushes him and presses a soft kiss against his lips.

“I know, baby, I know. Come on, let’s get cleaned up so we can go back to bed.” Link doesn’t sound muffled any more, but his voice is so quiet, so soothing, so unlike the harsh roughness that sparked such a fire in Rhett’s belly so recently. Rhett wonders drowsily at the contrast, at this man of his who can switch on a dime, who knows what Rhett needs before Rhett knows himself.

Rhett nods, eyelids heavy, and lets Link maneuver him until he’s laying on his back, the ground hard underneath him. The cool swipe of a cloth against his abdomen makes him jump, but Link’s warm hands follow the path of the wet wipe, mitigating the chill as much as possible. Rhett doesn’t know if he ends up dozing off or if Link’s just that briskly efficient, but it only feels like a handful of minutes pass before Link is kissing his cheek, his forehead, the tip of his nose, saying he’s all done.

Rhett yawns, blinking up at Link. “Blankets?” He’s coming back to himself now, still exhausted but no longer so fuzzy-minded, and he knows Link can tell because of the teasing reply he gets in return.

“What, you don’t wanna get back in the sleeping bag?” Link grins. “Yeah, hold on, I’ll get ‘em.” When he unzips the tent, they’re hit with a blast of cold desert air, and Rhett can’t help the yelp he lets out.

“Gol _ly_ , Link, hurry up, it’s freezing in here!” He shivers for emphasis, then grunts when he’s hit face-first with a wad of fabric. “Ow!”

“Such a baby. This is what happens when you keep your thermostat up so high all the time. No tolerance. Put your PJ pants and that sweatshirt on and quit whinin’,” Link says, then darts out buck naked, skin silvery and beautiful in the moonlight, to grab the blankets that are in the back of the 4runner. “Shit, it’s cold!”

He slams the door closed to the sound of Rhett’s laughter booming in the quiet stillness of the night and scurries back inside, pausing only to ball up the ruined sleeping bag and toss it outside before he zips the tent back up. He glares at Rhett but then grins, shaking his head. “Okay, it’s cold, you got me.”

“Hm,” Rhett murmurs, tugging the blankets from Link’s arms and then tugging Link down on top of them, covering Link’s body with his own, enveloping him. He can feel a smile stretching his face, rounding the apples of his cheeks. “Yeah I do.”

Link’s answering smile is enough to warm up the whole tent.


End file.
